A/N: I was recently reading through some lore on the dragon age wiki, and realised that I had totally missed the femslashy subtext in the Elven Pantheon, which was quite disgraceful.

Things you should know: This section occurs between chapters 8 and 9 of 'A Curious Thing'. Sylvanna and Morrigan are currently in a relationship, but the latter is being somewhat distant. Sarel is the storyteller from Zathrian's clan, who will tell stories of the Dalish if the warden shows an interest.

Warnings: Power imbalanced relationship, non-explicit overtones of dubious consent. Rating changed to 'M' just to be on the safe side.

9:31 Dragon

It was their first night in the Brecilian Forest. The land seemed different here: untamed, retaining a sense of mystery and the promise of ancient secrets. Perhaps it was only the disturbing groans of the elves unfortunate enough to have contracted the werewolf's disease, Alistair thought with a shudder. The sounds were clearly audible, the victims' pallets erected a scant few yards away from the common hearth.

On the morrow, they would begin the hunt for Witherfang, but for now they rested, their ears filled with the tales of the Dalish people. Sarel had only just finished the story of Andruil, Goddess of the Hunt and Ghilan'nain, Mother of the Halla.

It was said (Sarel had told them) that Ghilan'nain had been one of the People, chosen by Andruil herself. She had been cruelly deceived by a hunter, who had blinded the elven woman, bound her with ropes of thorns and then left her for dead. As Ghilan'nain lay in agony, the blood pouring from her unseeing eyes like tears, she prayed to Andruil for mercy, for the huntress to grant her a swift death. But the goddess could not bear to be parted from Ghilan'nain, and would not surrender her vhenan'ara to the cold embrace of Falon'Din. So Andruil sent her hares to Ghilan'nain, and they chewed through her ropes. Though the thorns cut their mouths, the hares did not cease until the woman was freed, for Ghilan'nain was beloved of Andruil and they would have gladly given their lives to save her.

Despite her great wounds, Ghilan'nain crawled to her feet, calling out to her sisters to guide her home. But the hunter had lured her a great distance from her clan, and none heard her pleas; none but Andruil. To save her beloved, the huntress was forced to turn Ghilan'nain into a beautiful white deer: the first of the halla.

The transformation took hold, and Ghilan'nain rose unsteadily on her coltish legs, crying out in horror at the feeling of her new limbs and the sound of her strange voice. No more would she dance with her clansmen, sing with her sisters, or rock her nieces and nephews to sleep in her cradling arms. She could not even shed a tear for her loss, for the halla did not cry; she felt her heart growing heavy, and she bowed her head in deep sorrow.

Andruil whispered to her, "take heart, emm'asha, and remember my Ways." And Ghilan'nain remembered, though it hurt to do so. She remembered the touch of the goddess, burning like fire, and the warmth of her embrace: the love that was as boundless as the great forest itself. Ghilan'nain raised her lovely head, sensing the smoke of her clan's fires on the breeze, and she stepped haltingly towards that scent. The hares circled at her feet, urging her onwards. Eventually, Ghilan'nain found her way back to her sisters, who knew her at once for who she truly was. Together, they cried to see her beautiful green eyes lost, her elegant hands transformed into slender hooves, but they offered their grateful prayers to Andruil, for the goddess had surely saved their sister's life.

In her new body that was still strange and unfamiliar, Ghilan'nain led her sisters to the deceitful hunter. They bound his limbs with thorns, and with a sharp dagger plucked out his eyes. Then, as the hunter's blood poured life into the welcoming ground, Ghilan'nain crushed his ribs with a powerful kick, and his devious heart forever ceased to beat.

"That is how the story ends," Leliana said, "but how did it begin?"

The light from the fire caught the copper tones in the bard's hair, but brighter even than that was the gleam of hunger in her eyes. She was drinking in the stories that fell from Sarel's lips like an eager child, poised on the edge of her seat as she prepared to hear more. Alistair wondered if the lay sister within her found this talk of Creators and goddesses blasphemous, or if it was all the same: yet another story of some distant figure of legend, where the truth of the matter had long since been distorted beyond recognition.

Their companions were assembled loosely around them, with a few exceptions. Wynne was engaged in a discussion with Lanaya about the state of the wounded and what herbal remedies could be used to ease their pain; Oghren had noisily passed out some time ago, dead drunk; and Zevran had also quietly excused himself. Alistair could only hope that the elf was not occupied in ruining some poor young girl, too fascinated by the assassin's exotic accent and outrageous behaviour to refuse him.

Sylvanna really should have talked to Zevran, Alistair thought with some annoyance, but she had been distracted ever since... well, ever since Denerim. He glared fiercely at the source of the warden's distraction, but Morrigan hardly seemed to notice his steely gaze, which was a pity. (And he had been practising so very hard to perfect it, too...)

"Very well," Sarel conceded, and Leliana's face lit up in a smile. "I will tell you of how Ghilan'nain the Graceful met the Goddess of the Hunt."

.

.

.

Ghilan'nain and the Huntress

In the days before Arlathan, the world was unspoiled and pure. The People lived in harmony with nature, as the Dalish do now, following the Ways of Andruil and preserving their sacred covenant with the land.

There lived in this world a most beauteous maiden, graceful and sure. She was the fairest of her sisters, blessed with snowy white hair and brilliant green eyes that were brighter than a budding leaf in spring. She was tall, with slender long legs, and her delicate strength and lissom steps were a joy to behold during the autumnal dances. But she was also prudent and wise beyond her years, respectful of her elders, and mindful of the ways of the People.

She was Ghilan'nain, first amongst maidens.

One day, Ghilan'nain was bathing in a forest spring. She was alone, but she had no fear in her heart, for she had brought her dagger and her bow and her quiver of arrows. These weapons she had laid beside the water in the unlikely event that she would need to defend herself. You must understand, the world was a different place then - the Veil was not as weak as it is now, and our People lived in harmony with both the Creators and the spirits alike. This was long before the darkspawn ever existed, long before their corruption made horrific creatures such as the bereskarn and the blight wolf.

As Ghilan'nain bathed, she noticed a magnificent hawk flying down and perching in the tree above her. She paid her respects to the bird, recalling that both the hawk and the hare were sacred to Andruil. Little did she know that the hawk was Andruil herself in mortal guise, drawn by Ghilan'nain's beauty: the smooth, graceful lines of her body and the way the pure waters of the spring clung to her bare skin.

Seeing as the hawk continued to watch her, Ghilan'nain began to speak freely to it, talking of her dreams and wishes, her hopes and fears. The bird seemed to understand every word she was saying, and its eyes followed her with keen intent as she wrung the water from her long flowing hair.

The sun was beginning to set, filling the sky with wondrous tones of jewel reds and pinks. As the shadows lengthened, Andruil became tired of simply watching and fluttered down to the ground. The goddess transformed, showing Ghilan'nain her true face. The poor girl stood still in shock and awe, for few among us could bear to look upon one of the Creators and not be blinded by their divine countenance.

"Be not alarmed," Andruil soothed. "I mean you no ill will."

Ghilan'nain would have fallen to her knees, were she not standing waist-deep in water, for she recognised Andruil by the wondrous bow she carried on her back, which could only be wielded by the Goddess of the Hunt herself. Instead she lowered her gaze, for one should not ever presume to look into a Creator's eyes, lest they turn mad from the knowledge of their own mortality.

"Great Andruil," Ghilan'nain said, "I am unworthy of your presence."

"Nay, lovely Ghilan'nain. This forest is my domain, and all the creatures in it; I have flown above its treetops, swum in its lakes, burrowed below ground in its cool earth, and yet in all this time, never have I seen a being as beautiful and enthralling as yourself." Andruil spoke softly to her, telling Ghilan'nain of how she had watched the girl in the guise of a hawk, and listened to her dreams and wishes, her hopes and fears. The huntress promised Ghilan'nain that she could have a place by her side, as an equal and a goddess in her own right, if only Ghilan'nain would accept her love.

At those words, Ghilan'nain was terribly frightened. She saw that such a thing could not exist between one of the Creators and one of the People, and that their love would be cruelly punished. She tried to reason with the goddess, to explain that such a thing could never be, but Andruil would not be denied.

Ghilan'nain did not know what to do. She knew that if Andruil approached, her resistance would crumble entirely, for who could withstand the desires of such a being?

So Ghilan'nain darted out of the spring and ran, her body still bare as she abandoned both her clothes and her weapons by the edge of the spring. Twigs lashed at her and scored marks against her legs and arms, and her naked feet were cut to ribbons as she sped through the forest, as light as a gazelle, her pale hair streaming in the wind. Andruil shifted forms again, this time taking the shape of a large cat, her shoulders as high as a man's waist, her coat coloured tawny red and gold. She waited, her great paws flexing in the dirt, until the sounds of Ghilan'nain's passage had long since faded away. Only then did she begin her hunt.

In her desperate flight, Ghilan'nain had not concealed her tracks, and the scent of her blood carried strongly through the forest. Andruil quickened her pace. The thrill of the chase flowed through the goddess, filling her with a savage joy; the forest echoed with the sounds of her voice raised in elation.

At last, Ghilan'nain had run until she could run no more, her heart pounding so loudly that she feared it would be heard from miles around. She knew that the goddess would not pause, but her body was so weary, her legs feeling as heavy as stone. She collapsed to the forest floor, and not knowing what else to do, she prayed to the spirits to aid her.

Moved by her plea, the spirits of the forest formed a shimmering barrier behind Ghilan'nain. Their magic reached out to the maiden, giving her limbs a new vigour and filling her lungs with their sweet breath.

"Run, da'len," the spirits urged her, and so Ghilan'nain rose to her feet and forced herself to flee once more.

Andruil approached the spirits' barrier, and found its magic impervious to both her keen teeth and sharpened claws. She could see the crushed leaves and twigs where Ghilan'nain had lain, hear the echoes of her footsteps, and smell the warmth of her blood.

Andruil was the Goddess of the Hunt, and she would not be denied.

She shifted forms once more, this time taking the guise of a fox, sleek and quick with dark red fur. She began to burrow, moist dirt spilling out from under her paws, until she had tunnelled all the way below the barrier and broken up to the surface on the other side.

Ahead of her, Ghilan'nain had stopped again for breath. The maiden shuddered when she heard Andruil's cry of triumph, and she knew that the barrier had failed to stop the goddess.

"Falon'Din!" she called out, "Dirthamen! Good brothers, hear my plea." Ghilan'nain begged assistance from the twins, the Friend of the Dead and the Keeper of Secrets, and upon hearing her, the gods took pity and sent their ravens Fear and Deceit to reason with Andruil.

The two ravens flew down and stopped Andruil in her tracks, alighting upon the path in front of the goddess and filling the forest with their raucous voices.

"Harbingers of death, come no closer," Andruil demanded, glaring at the ravens with her vixen's eyes. "Begone, for I claim this hunt as mine and mine alone."

"Your foolish passion will doom the one you desire," squawked the raven known as Fear. "She will suffer the most exquisite torments for your folly."

"A mortal heart is too fragile to hold the love of a goddess," cried Deceit. "Should you pursue her, she will turn from you, and with her dying breath she will rue the day your eyes set upon her."

"I care not for your omens," the fox said, with a snap of her jaws. "Now depart, before I devour the both of you."

With noisome cries, the ravens took to the air, but not before Andruil's teeth had found the edge of Deceit's wing, two perfect feathers drifting to the ground. Squawks of indignation followed her, but the goddess had dulled her ears to their cries, returning to the hunt once more.

By this time, Ghilan'nain was sorely tired, her limbs trembling from fatigue. She fell to her knees, her heart singing with fear; the forest was deathly silent, with not a whisper escaping to note the sound of Andruil's passage. The maiden scarcely knew if the goddess was more than an hour away, or merely a minute; only that there would be no escape for her.

She tried prayer once more, the words coming haltingly to her lips. Her voice broke the silence as she called out to Sylaise, sister of Andruil; if anyone could move the huntress, then it would be her gentle sister. But Ghilan'nain's flight had taken her far from hearth and clan, and her prayers fell upon deaf ears, for Sylaise could not hear her in the midst of the great forest.

And so it was that Andruil came upon the maiden, still kneeling in the dirt, her poor feet torn and bleeding, her skin covered in a myriad of cuts. Andruil approached her slowly, cautiously, as not to startle the girl. Ghilan'nain looked up, in her weariness forgetting to shield her eyes, and so she gazed upon the full glory of the goddess, and was overcome with Andruil's divine radiance.

"Sweet girl," Andruil said softly, "you have run well, and honoured me with a fine hunt. For this I shall grant you a boon: should you choose to leave now, I shall not follow; this I swear. But stay with me, dear Ghilan'nain, and I shall make you the most blessed of the People, for none before have ever known the love of a goddess."

Even before Andruil spoke those words, Ghilan'nain knew that she was lost. She had dared to look upon the face of the huntress, and now no mortal love could ever compare.

"Lady of the Hunt, I am yours," Ghilan'nain declared. "I will join you and your brothers and sisters in your heavenly sphere - with one condition," she added, for even though she was dazzled by love, she was no fool, and she knew that the heart of a goddess was a fickle thing.

"Name it," Andruil said, eager to claim the girl as her own.

"I would not have you raise me to the eminence of a goddess before you are certain of your affections," the maiden explained. "Give me one year more in mortal form. During this time you may decide that you weary of my company; so be it. Far better to let our love decline and fade than permit discord to rule between us for eternity."

"It shall not fade," Andruil said fiercely, certain of her affections. "But I agree to your terms."

And then the goddess passed her hands over Ghilan'nain's wounds, healing them; she covered the girl with gentle kisses, and traced the vallaslin across her cheeks, her touch burning with a righteous fire. Andruil laid the maiden down tenderly to the forest floor, and in her eyes an ardent love blazed with the heat of a thousand suns. Ghilan'nain surrendered to the Goddess of the Hunt, and if the world looked down upon their union with condemnation, then the two remained blissfully unaware.

.

.

.

"And that is how Ghilan'nain became the chosen of Andruil," Sarel said, ending the story with a sigh.

"How tragic," Leliana murmured. There was a subtle chill to her voice, Alistair noticed. She had not really been herself after they had found Marjolaine; he did not know what the Warden had said to her that night, as the bard had wiped her former lover's blood clean from her blades, but it had made her... different. Sharper. He wondered if she saw echoes of herself in the fable, as the innocent young woman ensnared by a force too torrid and enticing for her to resist.

"That is one version of the story," Sarel offered. "Different clans of the Dalish place their own twist upon the tale, but it is said that the impious hunter was sent to punish the two for their forbidden union."

"I wonder if Andraste felt the same way," Leliana mused. "If she was frightened by the Maker's love."

Sten made a dismissive growl. "The Qun does not speak of gods or goddesses. The huntress acted selfishly, robbing a young woman of her place in her clan. It was only right that the two of them were punished."

Shale also seemed to be in agreement, her voice rumbling with an unnatural echo. "Any creature found consorting with birds - or worse yet, taking on their despicable forms - deserves to meet an unpleasant end," she said, with a pointed look towards Morrigan.

"If only Andruil had just listened to Ghilan'nain to begin with, neither would have suffered," Alistair argued. "Ghilan'nain's wishes were totally ignored, which was completely unfair. I think Andruil should have left the poor girl alone, and shown some compassion. And some restraint."

"'Twould have been to the girl's advantage if she had used her favour with the goddess to ascend to divinity in her own form, before she was crippled and near death. She could have become Andruil's equal, had she clung less tenaciously to her own mortality," Morrigan said lazily, with her customary sneer.

"The Creators would still have punished them," Leliana interjected.

"Is that so? Together, perhaps the two of them could have withstood any accusations of impropriety. 'Tis not impossible to believe that the others could have learnt to leave well enough alone."

"Is godhood something you aspire to, Morrigan?" Alistair asked. "Taking your mother's place wasn't enough to satisfy you?"

The witch turned to look at him scornfully. "Had I such power, I certainly would not be burdening myself with your company."

"It has remained unusually silent," Shale remarked.

"That means you," Alistair said, prodding Sylvanna when she failed to respond.

Sylvanna sat up with a start. "I feel a little sorry for Andruil," she confessed. "She must have been terribly lonely, I suppose, to search for mortal love, and to risk such dire consequences."

Alistair caught the look that Morrigan shot Sylvanna's way, even if the latter did not. It was curiously undisguised, a flicker of emotion that made the otherwise bitter witch seem almost human. Before he could think further upon it, the expression was gone, leaving behind only an indifferent smirk.

"We use such tales to remind our children that rules exist for a reason, and that not even the Creators may flaunt them with impunity," Sarel explained.

"Was it a mistake to love, even for so short a time?" Leliana asked.

Sarel glanced aside, looking uncomfortable for a moment. "Perhaps it was not. Surely the love of a goddess - however brief - would have been worth any amount of suffering."

There was a slight pause at the elf's words, as his listeners recalled that Sarel had recently lost his wife to the werewolf's curse.

"We should return to our camp," Sylvanna said, breaking the silence. "Our thanks for your hospitality, Sarel."

The Dalish elf inclined his head to her. "Dareth shiral, Warden," he said, watching the group as they gathered themselves to leave.

Morrigan stalked off first, with Sylvanna quickening her pace to catch up with her. Their voices rose in hurried discussion, bitter words floating back to the rest of their companions.

"Let them talk," Leliana cautioned, as Alistair considered interrupting the pair.

"What's going on with those two? Do I really want to know?"

Leliana only shook her head and sighed. It seemed to be all the explanation she was willing to offer him.

Beside Alistair, Thetus nudged his palm with an unhappy whine. He absently scratched behind the hound's ears, the dog gazing up at him with adoration. "You and me both, boy," Alistair muttered. He glanced across to Leliana; they both watched Morrigan ducking into her tent with an air of finality, the warden remaining outside.

"We're going to be the ones left picking up the pieces," Alistair noted, echoing her thoughts.

"Let us pray then, that there will be pieces left to 'pick up'," Leliana said dryly, and before he could question her words, she had walked away.

Alistair the Grey Warden, former templar and bastard prince was suddenly quite grateful for the fact that he knew absolutely nothing of love.